


hers, forever

by celestial_txt



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: BDSM, Blood Drinking, Bondage, Choking, Consensual Kink, Dom/sub Play, F/F, Humiliation, Monsterfucking, Nipple Clamps, Petplay, Tentacles, Vampire Bites, Wax Play, shoe licking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-13 14:48:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29030433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celestial_txt/pseuds/celestial_txt
Summary: “That’s a good girl. I’m overdue for a new pet.” Lady Dimitrescu holds her hand out to you. “Won’t you be mine? I will treat you so well. I will make you enjoy every moment in my hands.”Your body is shaking, adrenaline still coursing through your body as you put your hand in hers.In which the reader becomes Lady Dimitrescu's kept pet.
Relationships: Lady Dimitrescu/reader
Comments: 57
Kudos: 510





	hers, forever

**Author's Note:**

> I think we are all a little stupid horny at the moment. We can have an indulgence like this, as a treat. 
> 
> (This fic does not assign pronouns to the reader, but uses _good girl_ as a term of endearment as well as clit teasing and pussy-fucking.)

This is how horror stories begin, you think wryly, trying to bite down on the fear knotting in your stomach as you knock on the door hard enough to make your hand ache. The mansion looms above you, dark and old, the blackened stones slick with the morning’s rainfall. 

You spotted it when your car broke down in the meandering hill roads from swerving too hard. You still don’t know what it was that streaked in front of the car, just that the dark shadow had a _noise_ to it, and you sat still for many long minutes after the rental car tipped into the ditch, unable to get over the sensation of being watched. The thick fog has lingered even into the pale morning, only parting for long enough that you saw the glimmer of windows down below. In some of them, lights were on, glowing like beacons in the long shadows cast by the mountain range. 

The knock echoes over the courtyard and a pair of black ravens watch from a leafless tree as you try to rub warmth back into your limbs. The descent has made the humidity seep into your clothing, and this valley is far colder than you were expecting from the region. 

After many minutes you try the door, and it swings open. Standing on the threshold, you peer inside: the hall is emanating a warmth that pulls at you, a fireplace crackling further in past the carmine red carpets. The light from dozens of candles dance across the lacquered mahogany surfaces of furniture. It strikes you just how cold you are, how drenched you are from the ordeal of getting down here. 

You hesitate, wiping off your mudcaked boots best you can before stepping inside. The heat envelopes you, warming your frozen cheeks until they sting.

“My daughters told me someone was coming.” The deep voice makes you jump, a tall woman entering the room. She is so tall that she has to bend to get in, and when she straightens up you cannot help but swallow. Her lips part into a wide smile as she notices, coming over to brush your wet hair away from your face. “It is not often we get unannounced guests.”

“My car broke down,” you say, stuttering a bit too much for your own liking. Something about her touch has you reeling a little, biting back a disappointed noise when she removes her hand. A part of you already wants it back, and you feel ridiculous but you haven’t been touched with such tenderness in so long.

“I see,” she says, sizing you up with her bright golden eyes. “Well, my daughters are out hunting. They won’t be back for a while. It is just you and me right now. Why don’t you come with me?” She plucks at the lapels of your wet coat, tsking. “Is this not unbearable to wear?”

“It’s cold.”

“And damp. Poor thing.” She says it with such emphasis that you think she might already care for you. 

She picks up a candle from the nearby table and sets off deeper into the mansion, the dark corridors winding like a maze. You quickly lose track of the turns and twists as you follow, your eyes trying to take in the flashes of what you see. Rooms upon rooms, filled with gilded furniture and rich brocades, the walls filled with paintings in dark colors. 

“I am lady Dimitrescu,” she says, motioning you into a room as she places the candle on a side table in there. “I may not hosts guests often, so forgive me any lapse in manners.” She smiles, her teeth gleaming in the candlelight as she towers above you. “I will return shortly with some food for you. Take whatever you need from the closets.”

The door closes behind you before you have time to thank her. 

The white closet doors are lined with gold, and you run your hands over the surface. You have only ever beheld things like this from a distance. 

The closets contain a mix of clothing, from the finest dresses in styles from decades ago to casual hoodies and ripped jeans. Flicking through the hangers you finally decide on a simple loose dress, the fabric wonderfully soft against your skin. Still feeling a chill in your bones, you reach in for a shrug and drape it over your shoulders, the scent of a smoky perfume stirring awake. 

Alone in the room, you fold up your dirty old clothes and then walk around. The paintings hanging on the walls in here are massive, depicting gruesome battles with women clad in black descending upon the dying men as a red sun sets in the background. They are terrifying, yet so beautiful.

When she returns, she brings with two glasses and a bottle of deep red wine. She uncorks it and pours it up for you, the dark liquid sticking to the crystal glass edges. 

“A curious little thing you are. I saw the way you looked at it all. Most would behold it with fear, yet you. You are fascinated.”

She motions for you to come closer, and like a moth to the flame, you find yourself drawn to her. She hands you a glass and smiles over the edge of hers. 

You cut your fingertip on the sharp edge of the glass neck, hissing and dropping it. It shatters on the floor, splattering red wine all over both of your dresses. 

“I’m so sorry, I—“

She grabs your wrist, taking your hand up to her mouth. You have to stand on your tiptoes even as she dips her head down, the wide brim of her black hat casting its shade over you. 

Her tongue flickers out and drags over the trickle of blood that covers your hand, the tip swirling over your skin in a way that has you shuddering. It feels weird and strange and oh so _good_ , even as her tongue trails up to the cut. She laps at the blood as it wells forth before she takes your index finger into her mouth and _sucks_. 

You moan as she does, clasping your free hand over your mouth in embarrassment. She only smiles, her lipstick leaving marks on your knuckles as she runs your finger over the sharp edge of her teeth. 

“What a taste,” she murmurs as she lets go of your finger with a wet pop. “So unique.”

Your brain is screaming at you to run, but your body wants to stay. It wants to be here, with her. 

She resumes her seat. You stand there, stuck between these wild raging desires that argue within you, and she watches you with a raised eyebrow. 

“You drank my blood?” Your stunned state of mind makes the words come out as a lilting question. 

Your blood is, in fact, staining her chin and she does not seem to care.

“Are you—“ Bringing yourself to finish the sentence seems an insurmountable task. 

She rests her chin in hand. “I know the word. As do you. _Say it_.”

“Are you going to kill me?”

She tilts her head thoughtfully, eyeing you from the wet hair down to the stained hem of the dress you wear. “Why would I? Your blood is delicious. It would be a waste to simply kill you.”

The promise laced into those words finally dislodges the freeze from your bones and you turn on your heel and start fumbling to get the door open. Behind you, the scrape of her chair makes the blood thrum harder in your head as you crash over the threshold and set off down the hallway. 

The labyrinthine hallways twist and turn, her heavy steps following behind at an easy pace but always present. Whichever room you dodge into she follows, and you curse the blood dripping from your hand even as you smear it over the wall.

“You did not even hear me out, little one,” lady Dimitrescu says, her tone even and amused. As if this is just a fun game for her. “Killing you does not entice me. Not the way your blood does.”

A part of you wants her to catch up to you, and you don’t know what to do with yourself, about this part of your body that grows louder and more demanding even as you don’t look back at her. 

“Would it be so bad to stay?”

_Pin me to the wall and drink from me and have your way with me I could be so good if you let me—_

You swallow, a distinct thrill curling in your core.

Maybe it would not be so bad to stay.

Maybe it would not be so bad to have her drink your blood and get inside of you, let her do things to you no one else ever has — 

You get to the door and pull them open, the cold air hitting against the bare skin on your arms and legs. And yet, as you stand on the threshold with one foot out into the foggy morning unfolding in front of you, you cannot bring yourself to do it.

You do not want to leave.

Whatever she is, whatever darkness you are stepping back into, you are choosing it. Here and now, you are making a decision to fall into her arms and descend into the dark she will take you to. 

You close the doors and turn back to face her.

“That’s a good girl. I’m overdue for a new pet.” She holds her hand out to you. “Won’t you be mine? I will treat you so well. I will make you enjoy every moment in my hands.”

Your body is shaking, adrenaline still coursing through your body as you put your hand in hers. 

* * *

Lady Dimitrescu is charmed by you, adorning you in jewelry and clothing finer than anything you have ever worn before in your life. She sends your measurements to tailors and give you a new box each time she comes to wake you up, watching in amusement as you fold back the tissue paper to reveal what new thing she has gotten you. You hold up each piece, the label pinging a distant memory of reading about it in a fashion magazine far out of your budget. They all fit perfectly.

You stand up on a chair and look at yourself in the mirror, twisting and turning. No one has ever done this to you. Taken care to adorn you.

She watches as you undress in front of her and put on the new lingerie, helping you adjust the straps when you fumble out of nervousness.

“Still so shy,” she coos as she hooks the garter clasp into the thigh-high stockings, running her cool hands over the sides of your hips.

“Allow me,” lady Dimitrescu says. 

She bends her head down to the swell of your breasts and a sharp pinprick has you crying out. Blood stains the top of the lace edge, and she laps at your skin.

When she pulls away she does so with a sigh. “It would be a shame not to keep you.”

She brings you meat so tender it melts in your mouth. The dishes are simple but so flavorful and rich that you cannot imagine ever eating anything else. She feeds you from her hands, making you lick her fingertips clean between bites, wiping stray drops from your chin. 

“Would be a shame to spill.”

She studies you, outlines your body. She makes you sit on the table and spread your legs in front of her as she reads, tutting at you whining when your thighs begin quivering from the strain. Something about being so vulnerable in front of her makes you wet, and she thrills at observing your hunger. 

It drives you wild, how she is so close the tip of your toes could rest on her knees, and yet she does nothing to you. Well, not the things you want her to do. Just these tests, these useless games that leave you exhausted by the end of the day and aching for her. Every night that you fall asleep with your clit throbbing with need, and one night you can’t deny yourself any longer. 

It takes embarrassingly little for you to come, the long day of her teasing touches and intense gaze undoing you far too quickly. You scream her name as you orgasm, arching off the bed and collapsing back down into a panting mess.

“Oh, pet,” lady Dimitrescu says from the shadows, making you jump in surprise. You did not hear her. Was she here the entire time? Did she see it all? “Have I not satisfied you enough? Have I been remiss in my treatment of you?”

“N-no lady,” you whimper, scrambling to sit up.

“I think I have. Come here.”

You obey, legs still shaking and underwear soaked, standing in front of her feeling uncertain if you have just ruined everything before it even fully began. You just wanted to be adored, to be good and cared for, and you try your best to swallow your fears.

“Hands out.” You do as told, and she thumbs over the palm of your hand. “Softer than I thought you would be. Mm. But dirty. _Filthy_.”

She reaches for the lit candles and snaps one clean off like it is naught more than a dandelion stem, holding it in front of you. Slowly, slowly she cants it to the side and the droplet of wax falls from the tip. You inhale sharply as it hits your skin, but keep your hands still. 

It stings, and you whine. “I’m so sorry,” you say, even as a part of you delights in the unfurling sensation of pain flowing through your body. “I’m so sorry I will never do it again.”

“Do what again?”

“Touch myself without your — aah! Your permission!”

Another and another drip, until finally your fingers are overrunning with them, long stalactites of cooled wax dripping between your hands.

“Hold out your tongue.”

You do, and she tugs it out until it aches, pinching it between her fingers as she drips wax onto it as well. It hurts, and to your shame it hurts in the exact way you like to hurt, the tension between your legs increasing. Only now you cannot beg her to touch you, only _wait_. 

The drops fall downwards over your chest, covering your exposed breasts, your hard nipples. You moan as best you can, even as drool spills from your mouth, wetting your chin and dripping in long strings over your breasts and down your belly. The ache is intense, the burn dull and yet exhilarating. Your nerves sing for each one as it slides down your skin until it hardens.

“Legs apart.”

You spread your feet wide apart, swaying slightly. She puts the candle in your hands, working it into the still-pliable wax until it is stuck, and you can do naught but watch it.

“Now, let me see.” One of her fingers transforms in front you, turning into a sharp _claw_. It slices through your underwear in a quick stroke, the shredded remnants falling to the floor. The finger returns to normal in front of your face, dragging down the front of you, all the way down to the venus mound. She slips a finger inside of you with no resistance, that is how wet you are. You buck into her touch, causing the candle to wobble precariously in your hands and almost singe your bare skin. 

“You should be careful with that.”

Her long fingers poke and prod inside of you, measuring you out as she scissors them wide apart. 

“Have I not been good to you, pet?” 

You nod, tears clouding your vision because it feels _so fucking good_ to finally have her inside of you, and in response she adds a third finger and you let out a scream of pleasure.

“I will gives you everything I can. I will let you have all the pleasure you can imagine and more.”

She fucks you with her fingers like this, you holding a candle, keeping your balance even as your thighs tremble, even as you want to fall to the floor because you cannot imagine staying standing even one more second. 

“Just be mine. Won’t you be mine?”

You nod, drool spilling from your mouth. You are filthy, depraved, a messy little pet and you are _hers_ , you want to be hers, always and forever especially if she can make you feel this good every day you are with her. 

She curls her fingers forward inside of you and you come, but she does not let up just because of that. You ride her hand and lose count at three, your entire body shaking as she smiles down at you. 

When you crumble, she extinguishes the candle with her wet fingertips, the sizzle louder in your ears than your own panting.

In the darkness, you can only make out vague shapes as she takes you into her arms and you feel her cool skin against yours. She breaks the wax off your tongue and you curl into her touch, clinging to the collar of her dress. 

“Yours,” you say hoarsely, pressing a kiss with your dry lips to her neck. “Thank you, lady Dimitrescu.”

“Now that is a good, grateful pet.”

* * *

Lady Dimitrescu’s daughters return soon enough. They pet your hair when they bring you food, laugh at how dazed you are, but mostly leave you alone. You are not for them, after all. And they respect their lady's property. 

Still, she puts a necklace around your neck with a crystal pendant on it that is almost luminescent in the dark. 

“Lest anyone gets the wrong idea about you. You are all _mine_.”

Of course, that is not all. She opens a jewellery box that plays a stuttering melody, and as she pulls the string of pearls between your legs, you realize how she has read you to filthy perfection. Your life has been filled with fantasies like this, the kind of shameful story you chase in your liminal nighttime fantasies. But here she is, adorning you in her finest jewelry and using it to make you hers. 

“Thank you, my lady,” you whimper, even as the pearls slide over your clit, your cunt already getting them wet. 

Her fingers fill your mouth up, they are big and when she pushes them in you gag a little, looking up at her with teary eyes. 

“Oh you sweet little thing,” she coos at you. “You really are not used to being treated like this?”

You try to say no but it comes out as a choked noise, your tongue slipping between her fingers and coating them in your saliva. 

“But do you want it?”

You nod, grasping at her hand to show her that yes, you want it, yes you can take more yes you can take _everything_ she has to give you. 

You have never seen anyone as beautiful as her and it drives you wild. 

You are kept dripping wet all day long, whining and whimpering on the soaked sheets. In her bed, you bury yourself in the sheets and pillows, twisting into them as your dreams grow hazy. For once in your life, you dream of nothing at all. You just _are_. 

It is a strange kind of bliss, you know it is, but she smiles at you and you realize that you are willing to do anything for her. 

But she wants to tease you, get you going, and not get you off. She has you eating out of the palm of her hand, and you lick up every crumb before kissing each fingertip, whispering thank you to her even as you wiggle your hips to have the string of pearls sliding tighter between them. 

You have been wet for days, trying to keep the noises from spilling out, but you don’t know how much longer you can last. You want her, so badly, you want her inside of you again. 

When you serve her a glass of wine you cannot take it anymore. Carelessly putting the bottle down on the table, you climb onto her lap and grind yourself on her thigh, wilfully disobedient and craving more than what little she has given you. You are fast and you are leaving wet stains on her and you don’t care. You will pay whatever price she wants from you for this, grinding against her thick thigh. 

She bounces you, once, amused at you, and then a flash of those claws shred through your clothing. You gasp, the sting of them stilling your needy movements. 

“I wanted to have this more than some musty wine, anyway.” She cuts your skin and watches as a few shy droplets of blood well up. You squirm, the sharp sting of the claw fresh in your mind, an instinct of fear drowned out by a desire to know. What will she do next? What will she do to you? 

Dragging the blunt side of the claw over the cut, she catches the blood drops and studies them. In the low golden light of the candles, they glisten like rubies. With tongue out, she brings the claw to her mouth and licks up every single drop, exhaling an appreciative sigh. 

“You taste exquisite,” she says, the pupils in her golden eyes dilating before she descends upon you. 

Her mouth is everywhere, her fingers teasing out pleasure and pain in equal doses. You ache and you moan, her teeth latched on over your neck and a sting that shudders through your body followed by a delightful sensation unfurling from the bite. 

You want to be used and you want to be used _more._ You grab at her and she pushes your hands behind your back, but you squirm them free. She pinches your nipples, hard, until they stand out enough for her to put clamps into place. 

“You are wicked. This is only a punishment to fit the crime.”

The pain, to your embarrassment, only makes you wetter. She flicks her finger against the dangling jewel at the end of the clamp. 

“Please…”

She lifts you up with one hand closed tight enough around your neck that your breath struggles, your lower lip trembling as she brings her other hand up between your legs. You already know what she will find there, and you whimper in humiliation as she traces the wetness up the inside of your thigh.

“Please what?”

You mouth the words _fuck me_ , smiling as you do. Caution thrown to the wind, you even press down on her hand. It’d be nice if she closed it just a little tighter. If she made it just a little harder to breathe. 

Instead, she drops you onto the floor and you writhe on the carpet, a mess of needs. She circles around you, the hem of her dress brushing your sides before she stops at your head where she offers up her foot. 

You twist your head and lick a long stripe along the white silk of the heel, shuddering at yourself. Did you ever think you’d do this? Did you ever imagine this is where you would find yourself, down on the floor in front of a terrifying lady such as herself and licking her shoe clean of your own slick? 

Your cunt aches for more. 

You fall to the floor, blissed out and messy, and she puts the tip of her shoe between your legs and drags that pointed toe up between your swollen labia, following the outline of the slit before she gets to the clit. She puts the heel on the aching nub and presses down. 

To your embarrassment, you come. It rushes through your body so fast you can barely keep up, a pleasure unfolding all at once. It bursts through your nerves and has you screaming, grinding down on that hard pressure point on your clit, wanting just a little bit more. 

She shoves the shoe into your face. “You got it all wet. Clean it up.”

With trembling hands, you hold onto her calf and lick, taking the heel into your mouth and hollowing your cheeks around it. You want to be good for her. You want her to adore you, treat you to what you want. You fall so easily when she finally treats you like this. 

She grabs your hair and drags you along the corridor like she’s walking a puppy, her long legs making it a struggle to keep up. The clamps at your nipples swing with each move, the ache leaving you whining. Once she gets to her chambers, she throws you to the floor and you kneel on all fours, wet cunt in the chill air giving you goosebumps all over your body. 

She takes a seat in front of you, spreading her legs and hitching her skirt up slowly. Your mouth waters, hoping, wanting. 

“Your mouth should be put to good use, don’t you agree?” As her knees fall apart, you nod eagerly. _Yes, yes, you will of course you will —_

You crawl up to her on all fours, starting down at her feet with your mouth, licking and kissing as you move up to the apex of her thighs. You push her beautiful lace lingerie to the side and press a hungry, messy kiss to her cunt, lapping eagerly. 

You close your lips around her clit and suck, filling your mouth up with her taste. It is so different, you cannot put it into words, but you love it all the same. You want her to think of you as good. You want to show her good you can be at worshipping her. 

She strokes your hair. “Use your fingers. Don’t be shy.”

You move your mouth down, getting her wet and good for you, while you have three fingers inside yourself. When she is dripping wet, you take those fingers covered in your own slick and push them into her, marvelling at how she feels. Thrusting in and out, you slip your little finger in too, and she sighs softly above you.

“Good girl. Keep going. Earn what I’m going to do with you.”

You curve your fingers inside her, whimpering with eagerness even as you continue to suck on her big clit, even as you kiss and lick and hollow your cheeks to make her feel just how dedicated you are to her. You will earn everything and anything she can do to you, you’re a good girl, _a good pet_.

Her eyes flutter shut for a brief moment, and a soft, barely there shudder ripples through her body.

You look up at her with wide eyes, unsure of if she just came or not, but she laughs in a gentle way and her grip on your hair tightens as she yanks you up to your feet again, the sharpness of the tug causing tears to well up in your eyes.

She eases you up on the table, her big hands angling your hips up towards her mouth.

“Did I earn it?” you ask, wanting to know. Needing to know.

“You did so well,” she purrs. The affirmation alone makes your pussy clench. “My, my. What a filthy little mess you are.”

You wriggle under her hands. She spreads your labia apart and licks a long stripe between her fingers, the sensation of her tongue making you throw your head back sharply. Her grip on you is firm enough to hold you in place, even when you buck up towards her soft lips and smear her lipstick all over your thighs.

“Look at me.”

You obey, and you watch as her tongue _grows_. It is long, dark, and monstrous. When it slides into you, your eyes widen. You are _done for_. Nothing else, no one else, can ever hope to satisfy you like this. It’s so thick and determined to find all of your spots, curling and pressing in ways that have you squirming and grasping her arms. 

Her golden eyes gleam as she eats you out, the tongue filling you up. It is so long, so thick, and you think that this is it. You can never go back to anyone or anything else. The way the tongue curls inside of you, the way it hits against all the spots inside of you that has your nerves alight, it’s obscene. How can anyone do this to another being? How could anyone else ever know you like she already does?

When you come, she does not stop, but keeps pushing you, keeps sucking and moving that tongue until you come again and again and _again._ You lose count, your mouth a blabbering screaming mess, your legs shaking so hard. 

Your eyes roll into the back of your head as you come one more time, and she lowers you down onto the table. Tremors ripple through your body, your mouth quivering as you slowly come down from the high of what she did to you.

But she is not done. Not yet. 

She kisses the inside of your thigh and as you moan, a twin pin prick sinks through your skin. She drinks from you shamelessly, holding you down as she has her fill. It hurts, but in a strangely delicious way, and you feel the tension behind your pubic bone, the tell-tale sign of desire rising again. She knows your body better than you do. 

When she is done, she wipes at her mouth with a napkin. 

“As delightful as ever.” 

A blissful smile creeps up on your face as you nod eagerly, lapping up every drop of praise she offers you. 

* * *

Your body is sore from yesterday, but it is like a distant echo. 

You comb your fingers through your hair, the bath colder than you would like, but you do not mind. It wakes you up, clears your mind of the haze. 

Your skin is marked by her, and you study it in the mirror, holding up one limb after the other from the chill bathwater and twisting them to study yourself. The grey-blue light falling in through the windows makes you look far paler than you are. On your thighs you can see the exact outline of her teeth. Rope marks run in neat precise patterns over your limbs. When you turn to look at your back, you can see the claw marks. 

Maybe once, this would have made you fearful. But right now and here, you thrill at it. Taken into her hands and her heart and _kept_ , called precious and darling and sweetling. 

You wear the clothes she gives you, for as long as possible. Her claws shred them often enough, until all you can wear are ripped thigh-highs. “I like the way they look on you,” she purrs, tilting your chin up as she walks past you. 

Of course, you sometimes test her a little. You want to see where her punishments take you. You want to know the fine edge of pain and pleasure in her hands, and she always smiles before doling them out. You feel so loved when she does.

In the sitting room, she waits for you, a length of rope dangling from the ceiling. Her hands work so fast as they wrap the soft cotton ropes around you, parting your limbs and pushing them into position until you are spread and at her mercy. 

“I will have my tea first, and then after that, you.” 

She hoists you up with no effort at all, and you dangle in front of her as she sips from a teacup, trying your best to swallow around the gag so as not to drip on the tablecloth. The rope spins gently, and once in a while she reaches up and touches you to make you sway a bit, the ropes pressing against your sensitive spots. 

She pinches your clit and you scream around the gag, the suddenness of that touch sending an electric surge through your body. And yet, your toes curl from how good it feels. 

“I have been thinking,” she says, spinning you around so that you face her. “That you have been such a delightful pet to keep around. That you have proven yourself to me, over and over.”

You nod, a long string of saliva dripping from your mouth.

“I think it is about time that you are treated to my gifts.”

You try and say yes, but all you can manage is a garbled, excited noise. 

The lights seem to dim in the room, a strange kind of darkness pressing in from the corners. It blots out almost everything but her, and then you _feel it_. The warmth, the thickness. It _slithers_ along your body, wrapping and prodding, multiplying and becoming more and more. 

One of them rubs between your legs, and then another one joins in. A third, smaller one, parts your labia, teasing at your entrance. You watch the smile spreading over her lips, exposing her teeth, as they plunge inside of you and you feel so _full_ , so deliciously and messily _filled_. 

The tentacles inside of you writhe, needy and messy. You try to spread your legs wider but how can you fit anything else in you? Yet still, still you want more. Your hunger knows no bounds. 

She laughs at you. “How precious you are like this,” she says, the tentacles pulling out. 

The empty feeling in your cunt has you desperate, feral with need, but she does not let you wait long before they push back in, soft and pliable and yet so filling. 

She reaches up and removes the gag, and you swallow the spit that has been pooling in your mouth as you kiss and lick at her hand, not knowing what else to do with your mouth. You need more and you need her to give it to you. Anything else might break you. 

You are so full, and still you nip at her hand with the greed of someone wanting more. You want to be hers. 

She won’t let you get what you want that easily. 

“Say it.”

“I want to be fucked!” Your whine is a howl of wanton need. Your cunt clenches for each word that spills from your lips, each plea that drips from your lips an admission of how fallen you are. “I want you inside of me, please, ruin me. Step on me, call me yours, _make me yours_ , I want it all.”

“Oh, you wicked little pet.”

“Please, anything, do anything to me. I’m all yours. Fuck me until I’m crying, drink me up, push me facedown on the floor and fill up all my holes. Take me and do as you will.”

The tentacles push into you and you smile and whine and moan. “Thank you thank you, _yesss_ ,” you choke on your gratitude and arch back into them. She only needs one finger on your rib cage to hold you in place.

You lick the tentacle, guiding it towards your mouth. Her eyes come closer, her dark lips parting in a smile that shows off her teeth. The sharp fangs are out, and you cannot look away from them as you take the tentacle in your mouth, nudging it in as deep as you can. You want to make her proud. You want to see how much of yourself you are willing to give her. 

Your pussy has never known fullness like this, and you hold your restrained hands on your lower belly and you think you can feel them moving inside of you, the writhing and twisting mass of tentacles that press and stretch against your inner walls. Reaching a hand down, you touch at your swollen sore sex, your wetness coating the tentacles as they slip in and out, all sticky with your fluids. 

You thumb at your clit but she bats your hand away. “Now now, what kind of mistress would I be if you had to do _that_?” 

You nod, more out of greed than agreement. What she is doing is enough, yes, of course, you’d never be rude, but you are _greedy_ and she knows it.

Swinging back against them you fuck yourself on them, tongue hanging out of your mouth as you don’t know where your orgasms end nor begin. It is just wave after wave, coming time and time again. The tentacles inside you curve upwards, hitting first at the shallow spot at the front and then at the deeper one, and your voice hits a new high note as you struggle and trash against the ropes. 

You are so full and you are coming and you know not what to do with yourself but thrust your hips back down against the tentacles, get them to hit that sweet spot again and again _and again_ , you are feral — 

She raises you up in her hands and some tentacles slip out of your pussy to make room for her between your legs as she plants kisses up the inside of your thigh, smearing her black lipstick all over your skin. 

She bites down, and you come as she drinks from you, the line of pain and pleasure mixing and crashing down on you. 

In her hands, you surrender completely with your body and your blood and your mind. As your blood flows into her mouth, as you _nourish_ her, she makes you come and you sing her name until your voice cracks, filled to the absolute brim with the monstrous tentacles she has kept hidden from you for so long. How spoiled you are in her hands. _How loved you are._

When she cuts you down from the ceiling you are nothing but a limp mess, and she carries you to the bed and she wipes the sweat off your body with a rag dipped in cold water. Your skin prickles into goosebumps as you shift, your sore body twisting in the sheets. 

She coos at you, gathering you into her arms. She pulls down the front of her dress, her breasts pressing against you, and she makes you watch as she cuts a small incision over her heart. 

“Bite down, sweet thing. And drink deep. I wouldn’t want you to be too tired for my games tomorrow.”

And the day after. And the day after that. You nod, eyes big, as you suck and lap and swallow.

She hisses as you bite down, stroking your hair. “That’s it,” she says, encouraging you. “Good girl. Drink from me. You need it.” She lets you drink from her, just a little, no more than a mouthful, but she wants you strong for all the days to come with her, all the fun she is going to have with you. All the ways she will have you, feed you, keep you. 

Hers, forever. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Mel, Thala, Morgan and longingly who have suffered through me losing my mind over Dimitrescu over the past week. longingly especially, whose words have dared me to go deeper and more depraved ever since reading them the first time. 
> 
> My twitter is [@celestial_txt](https://twitter.com/celestial_txt) & [my carrd](https://celestial-txt.carrd.co/) is here.


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